


P is for

by thedeathchamber



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber
Summary: Louis and Pedro, winter in New York, a coffee machine, and bilingualism.
Relationships: Pedro Pascal/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	P is for

**Author's Note:**

> For [Liz,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edensrose/pseuds/edensrose) who is entirely too persuasive. Her lovely gifset prompt [and fic post] on tumblr [here!](https://louehvolution.tumblr.com/post/640229061576294400/holdingthornsandroses-inspiration-post-for)
> 
> Hopefully someone else can enjoy this! Kudos and comments are always much appreciated; thank you for reading!

It’s almost noon when Pedro wanders downstairs, squinting as he slips his horn-rimmed glasses on and gets a good look at the snow that has piled up overnight; he lets out a low whistle. By New York standards it’s probably not that much, but it’s his first winter in the city and he still has a childish fascination with snow, and he hasn’t seen this much since his childhood in Denmark. 

The artificial heating is nothing like the heat in Texas either, and hot even in only his boxers and a threadbare tee shirt, he cracks open a window and pokes his head out into the crisp cold while his coffee brews.

After a minute he ducks back inside. Stretching out his back, he groans at the pull in his shoulders and the slight soreness in his lower back—a reminder that he is no longer in his twenties, when he could spend the whole night fucking and not feel a thing the morning after. Still, he had held his own, and even tired out his companion, despite their age difference. 

Feeling rather self satisfied, Pedro heads over to the couch with his steaming mug, a grin on his face.

He has moved on from the news to Candy Crush, and there’s nothing but a lukewarm drop of coffee left in his mug by the time he hears light footsteps on the stairs and then a soft, high voice, with a slight rasp from sleep.

“Morning.”

Pedro puts down his phone with no regard for his progress in the game, smiling. Louis looks sleep rumpled, in the oversized hoodie Pedro had coaxed him into when his shivering woken him in the middle of the night, and a pair of sweatpants he had left out for him. He looks beautiful: all sharp angles and unexpected curves, slight and small, smooth and soft and sweet—Pedro knows from first hand experience now. 

Displaying delicate fingers and fine wrists, Louis worries at his hair in the nervous habit Pedro had noticed within the first fifteen minutes of their date. Every time he did it Pedro had wanted to kiss the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, his knuckles, the center of his palm where it turned out he sometimes hides his smiles. The urge has not diminished in the slightest after spending the night with him.

“Afternoon,” he teases. “Go ahead and close the window if you like, sweetheart,” he adds, noticing the sweater paws and the hint of a hunch in his shoulders. The open space of kitchen and living room has cooled, and the wind is beginning to blow in fine snow from the fire escape.

“Mm. Thanks.”

Pedro watches him as he lingers by the window for a moment, looking out into the street, his delicate features in relief against the white winter light. That he is beautiful is a fact, but more than his appearance draws Pedro to him.

An arm thrown over the back of the couch, he pats his thigh in invitation once Louis closes the window and turns to face him. 

He walks over, fiddling with the string of the hoodie with one hand, to stand between Pedro’s spread legs. His gaze travels up from his bare thighs to his chest to his face, looking at him from beneath his eyelashes—between bold and bashful, as Pedro had noted was his wont.

“Looks good on you,” Pedro comments, motioning to the hoodie with his chin even as he reaches out to palm his hip. “And these.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows, lips twitching. “They’re just sweatpants.”

Pedro thumbs at the sharp jut of his hipbone. “My sweatpants, on you.” 

“You like that, hm?” he replies with a laugh.

“I sure do.” Pedro coaxes him into perching on his lap, an arm around his waist, and draws him into a slow kiss in which he can make out the taste of his own peppermint toothpaste. 

He isn’t surprised to find Louis as submissive and sweet as in the night. His fingers twisting in the worn material of Pedro’s old tee, he shudders when Pedro murmurs about what a pretty little thing he is in between kisses.

After a moment, however, he pulls back, licking his lips and swallowing nervously. Pedro presses a soothing kiss to the angle of his jaw—shaved smooth the day before, he barely has any stubble. 

“I… ” He pulls a face, embarrassment palpable, before reaching up to rub his nose, fix his fringe, then fidget with the ends of his hair where it curls out over the hood of the sweatshirt, all the while avoiding Pedro’s gaze. “I don’t know how this usually works,” he says at last in a small voice. 

“ _This_ being…?”

Louis blinks at him before taking a quick, deep breath, resigned to spelling it out. “The... morning after.”

Pedro keeps his expression neutral, not all that surprised at the answer. Although Louis had not come across as virginal exactly—clearly knew his way around in bed well enough—he had sensed some inexperience, a certain timidity that hinted some aspects of their encounter at least, were new.

“It works however you want it to, Louis.” Pedro takes hold of his hand and gives in to the urge to kiss his hands, pressing his lips to his knuckles. “You can go, or you can stay. I’d like you to stay,” he tells him honestly. “I’d like to make you breakfast—a late breakfast, but who makes the rules, right?”

Louis meets his eyes again at that, a tentative smile on his face. 

“And afterwards, I was thinking I could fuck you again, make you feel nice, hm?” His hand on Louis’ waist smooths down to the curve of his arse. “If you’re not too sore,” he adds, his tone light but the words in earnest.

“I’m not,” Louis says quickly. Then drops his eyes, blushing. 

Pedro chuckles, and though the pink in his cheeks remains, he shoots him a mock glare in response. 

“Just a bit sensitive,” he clarifies, his voice going high when Pedro bounces him on his leg playfully. “You’re not… exactly small, and it was…” 

The sex hadn’t been rough, but it had been passionate—headboard knocking against the wall intense—both wound up and eager.

Pedro nips at his neck. “I’ll be the most tender Latin lover this time,” he assures Louis with a grin, making him laugh. “ _Que sonrisa mas linda tienes,_ baby,” he murmurs, almost absently, mesmerised—he really does glow when he smiles and laughs, all sharp little teeth and crinkles by his eyes. 

Louis buries his face against Pedro’s shoulder, obviously blushing.

“I tell you I love your beautiful smile and you hide it from me?” Pedro teases, smoothing Louis’ hair back from his face.

“Is that what you said?” Louis mumbles with a shiver as Pedro tickles the sensitive at the back of his neck.

He chuckles. “I thought you’d understood, since you got all bashful on me.”

Louis raises his head to look at him, cheeks pink. “You call me ‘baby’ whenever you’re complimenting me.”

Pedro’s grin widens in amusement and delight at Louis’ quick mind. “And sweetheart when I’m telling you what to do,” he confirms, thinking about telling him to get on his knees, to suck, to hold his hands over his head the night before, how he submitted without question.

“I like when you tell me what to do,” Louis whispers.

“I know,” Pedro murmurs, reassuring and teasing at the same time, and pulls him into another kiss, a hand on his jaw to guide him. “But for now, how about breakfast?” 

“So what are you making me?” Louis asks, following Pedro to the kitchen.

Pedro spreads his arms out with a laugh. “Whatever you like, princess.” He throws open a cupboard and peers into the fridge. “I’ve got a box of pancake mix, eggs, cereal, toast… Whipped cream, hm?” he adds, turning to Louis with a suggestive, playful eyebrow. 

Leaning against the kitchen island, Louis lets out a quiet giggle into his palm. “Maybe some other time.”

Pedro winks. “Some other time then. So what’s it going to be?” he asks after a moment, pulling out a carton of eggs. “Omelette? French toast?”

Louis perks up at that. “French toast? If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I can do that.” He digs into the fridge again for the milk. “Will you have some with your coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“The coffee machine’s got a setting for that. I never use it, but see if you can figure it out?” he offers with an easy smile after measuring out the milk. “The instructions are… somewhere in the apartment.”

Louis breathes out a laugh as he takes the milk from Pedro. “I’ll just hit buttons and see what happens, then, shall I?”

Pedro’s eyes drift to Louis while he prepares the mixture for the toast—he’s magnetic: standing with one hip cocked, hands on his waist drawing attention to his hourglass figure.   
He’s forced to look away eventually once he turns on the stove. “How’s it going?”

Beeping and a startled ‘shit’ comes as an answer. 

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good,” he jokes as he turns the first piece of toast over to brown the other side.

“It’s fine… I think.” Louis’ laugh sounds forced and entirely too nervous.

Setting the pan aside for a moment, Pedro walks over to Louis and wraps his arms around him from behind, looking to comfort and prepared to help. But—“Oh, you did it. There you go,” he says with a surprised laugh, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

“I did something,” Louis demurs, staring at the coffee machine dubiously. “It’s entirely possible the next time you try to make yourself coffee, it’ll—”

“Explode?” Pedro quips.

“Or poison you,” Louis deadpans, but there’s a tension to how he is holding himself that makes Pedro tightens his arms around him and pitch his voice low and reassuring.

“Breathe, sweetheart, it wasn’t a test,” he tells him, nuzzling his neck where the oversized hoodie slips over his shoulder. 

There’s a hint of quaver in Louis’ laugh. “It’s only we’ve known each other for… eighteen hours, and I thought I’d broken your very expensive coffee machine.”

Pedro encourages him to turn around, still in the circle of his arms. “It’s one of the cheaper ones, and it was a gift,” he says jokingly.

“That wouldn’t make it better!”

Pedro pecks him on the tip of his scrunched up nose, then the furrow between his eyebrows. “When you said you’d never done this before it wasn’t a line, huh?” He can’t help but murmur, endeared. 

Louis flushes, fisting the front of Pedro’s shirt. “I’ve only had one proper relationship that lasted… too long, and I’ve gone on dates, but never…”

“What changed?” he asks, though what he wants to ask is _why me_ —how did he get so lucky?

“I don’t know. It—you felt right,” he replies, glancing up at Pedro shyly.

Pedro tilts his chin up to brush their lips together—it isn’t much of a kiss when he can’t stop smiling. “You don’t regret it then? Coming home with me? Had a good night?” 

“I won’t, if you finish breakfast.” Louis gives him a light push toward the stove, where Pedro picks up where he left off with the toast. “And last night was… good,” he blurts out after a minute. 

Poking at the bread in the pan, Pedro looks over with a raised an eyebrow. “I think I can do a little better than good. What grade are we talking?” 

Louis presses his lips together to contain a grin as he sips at his coffee, rolling his eyes. “How should I grade you, Professor? Percentage or letter grading, or…?” 

“It’s all about the constructive feedback,” he counters, laughter in his voice, as he plates the toast. “Harder, faster, deeper? More fingers, more tongue? You seemed pretty satisfied last night, but there’s always room for improvement.” 

“For next time?” Louis gives him a coy look behind his mug, even as he blushes—and immediately after reaches up to fuss with his fringe.

Pedro makes a noise of assent, finishing up at the stove. “I’m taking notes—next time I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, now that I know how you drink your coffee and that you have a sweet tooth.” 

“What if I fancy tea?”

“Well, I’ll get there.” He unearths a handful of raspberries in the fridge to add to the toast, and pours himself a glass of orange juice. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he replies in an arch tone, gratified when Louis fails to bite back a giggle.

“Right.”

Pedro finds himself captivated by his smile; his graceful walk as they move to the couch; the manner in which he eats, all dainty wrists and earnest pleasure. He has always been open and easy in his affections, but without intense attachment. This feels different somehow. He _wants_ , more than he’s used to wanting—wants to keep this, see where it goes.

“Mm—” Pedro reaches out to wrap his fingers around a delicate ankle, propped up as Louis sits with his legs crossed. “How many times did you roll these up?” he teases.

“It’s a fashion choice,” Louis replies, deadpan, making him laugh.

“Inspired.”

Louis breathes out a laugh which becomes a giggle when Pedro’s touch on the smooth, fine skin of the arch of his foot turns ticklish. “Stop playing with my feet, we’re eating.”

“True. Breakfast first. Then I’ll play with you some more,” he says, teeth bared in a roguish grin.

Louis’ reaction—the minute widening of his eyes and parted lips before he composes himself, gulping down the last of his coffee—has Pedro impatient to be done with breakfast. 

“Was that me, or the ice?” Pedro asks, noticing the small wince on his face when he shifts in his seat to set down his empty cup.

“The ice,” Louis answers with a sheepish laugh, chasing after the raspberry left on his plate with his fork.

“You’re an impressively reckless skater.” Pedro chuckles.

“Mm. It works, though.” He squints, head tilted to the side, as he finishes chewing. “For the most part.”

“Your ‘a lot of confidence and no technique’ strategy, is it?”

Louis bursts into giggles, narrow shoulders shaking, at Pedro quoting him. Carefully placing his knife and fork together on his plate, he shakes his head. “I just… can’t stop and think about things too much or I’d never get anything done,” he explains, disarmingly sincere. “I probably wouldn’t have auditioned for my first school play back in the day, and then where would I be?” he adds with a laugh.

“Where _would_ you be—” Pedro takes his empty plate and sets it on the table with his own— “If you weren’t in Broadway?” Leaning back in his seat, he studies Louis: the sharp cheekbones and long eyelashes and pouting, pink lower lip.

His mouth twitching, Louis gives him a sidelong look. “I wanted to be a teacher, actually. Drama or English.” 

“Ah, a fellow educator.” Pedro raises a comical eyebrow, peering at him over the rim of his glasses. They share a laugh before he continues: “I can see that. But what a loss for the stage.”

“You’ve never seen me perform,” Louis snorts.

“Actually, I _may_ have found a video on You Tube last night, and watched it while you were freshening up.”

“Oh?” His diffidence is palpable.

“Couldn’t see much, to be honest, but you sing beautifully, Louis.”

There’s a trace of relief in Louis’ smile, and he ducks his head bashfully as he mumbles a soft thank you. 

His response is surprising—and endearing, but it also makes Pedro want to praise him every day until the uncertainty and shock grow less. 

“What about you?” Louis asks quickly. “What would _you_ have done, if you hadn’t gone all respectable and become a professor?” 

Pedro exhales noisily with a laugh as he takes off his glasses and hangs them from the collar of his tee shirt. “I wanted to be everything: a professional swimmer, a pianist, an actor… and nothing. Drove my parents crazy for a while.” He shrugs, and draws Louis closer with a hand on his nape. “Now I think it was always going to be astrophysics. Stars—” Tipping Louis’ chin up, he thumbs at his cheek where a group of freckles group together— “fascinate me.”

Louis’ eyes slip closed in anticipation, his eyelashes fluttering. Pedro kisses him, soft and slow, tasting the sweetness in his mouth.

“I remember when I first learned about constellations as a child. I see one… right… here,” he says, pecking at the trio of freckles.

Smiling, Louis seeks out his mouth, one hand spread on Pedro’s chest, grasping at his tee shirt over his stomach. And Pedro has had his share of one night stands and dates that end with a nightcap and a tumble, he is not unfamiliar with a comfortable morning after and another round or two before parting ways—this shouldn’t be any different, but it feels different… more. “I like you a lot, you know,” he tells Louis easily, truthfully, when they break apart. 

Louis’ lips quirk with amusement. “You hardly know me.” 

“We hardly know anything about the universe. But what we do know, I like. A lot. And I want to know more.” Palming his arse, he pulls Louis onto his lap to straddle him, arms looped around his neck. 

“And you favor a hands on approach to learning, right?” Louis quips, breath hitching when Pedro slips his hands under the hoodie to touch his bare skin—running up his spine, following the cut of his waist, smoothing over his ribs.

“I sure do. Can’t keep my hands off you.” One hand bunching up the hoodie at his waist, he tucks his other hand down the back of his sweatpants to give Louis’ arse a squeeze.

“Pedro,” Louis gasps when fingertips brush his hole, still a little loose from taking Pedro’s cock a few hours earlier.

“I love the way you say Pedro—it sounds like please,” he murmurs, half a groan, mouthing at the hollow of his throat, the prominence of a bared bit of collarbone. “Is there anything you’re asking for, sweetheart?” 

Holding onto his shoulders, Louis starts moving on top of him with purpose; chin to his chest, a slight furrow of concentration and arousal on his face. The sight alone would be enough to affect him—combined with the calculated pressure on his cock, he is close to full hardness within a couple of minutes.

“Feels so good, baby.” Pedro grips his arse, spreading his cheeks as Louis rides his clothed cock. “Is that what you want, hm, this cock?” he pants. 

“Please,” Louis whimpers, his rhythm faltering when Pedro feels out his cock tenting the front of his sweatpants, cupping him easily with one hand. 

“I’m going to give it to you, love, don’t worry.” He draws the hoodie over Louis’ head, prompting a shiver, though his skin feels warm and he is flushed down his neck and chest. Pedro’s hands are large on his slim waist and narrow chest, pinching at a pert nipple. Louis moans and starts when he soothes it with his tongue.

“Pedro—” 

“Let’s go upstairs.”

The bedroom is warm, a faint scent of cologne and sex still in the air. Pedro first opens the blinds to let in some natural light, then tidies up: pulling the duvet down to the foot of the bed and smoothing out the fitted sheet.

Louis hasn’t moved from the door, one arm wrapped around his middle, watching him while fidgeting with his hair.

Pedro shoots him a grin. “In the absence of room service.” 

He’s rewarded with a soft laugh, and Louis relaxing visibly—though he still worries at the drawstrings of the sweatpants.

“It’ll do,” Louis returns, stepping further into the room, pushing the waistband of the sweatpants lower over his hips. 

“Why don’t you take those off for me, sweetheart?” Pedro tells him, grabbing the bottle of lube and a row of condoms from the nightstand and tossing them on the bed. He removes his own tee shirt and gives himself a squeeze over his boxers as he saunters over to Louis. “Alright?” he asks in a low, gentle voice, brushing a kiss behind his ear.

Louis nods, smiling, holding onto the cut of his hip with one hand. “Yes, _Professor._ All good,” he answers with a giggle.

Chuckling, Pedro hooks his fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants. “That’s a bit of a mouthful,” he says. “You know, there’s something else you could call me that starts with a p.” 

“What?” Louis asks, bemused.

“ _Papi. Papito._ ” He tugs Louis’ sweatpants down enough to bare his arse, cupping it with both hands. Breath stuttering, Louis rises on his tiptoes as Pedro gives him a firm squeeze and pulls him closer.

“What does that mean?” he gasps, clinging to his shoulders.

“Daddy, literally. And _Daddy._ ” 

Louis gapes at him, round eyed. “Oh.” 

And well—Pedro is neither averse to the idea, or a stranger to the reality. “You want that?” he asks, walking them toward the bed. “I can be your Daddy, baby, take care of you.”

When the back of his knees hit the mattress, Louis lets out a little, nervous laugh. “Please,” he breathes, voice high, interlacing his fingers behind Pedro’s neck in a clear request for a kiss.

Arms wrapped around his waist, Pedro leans down to kiss him, deep and hard, before encouraging him onto the bed.

While he steps out of his boxers, Louis raises his hips to pull down the sweatpants—pushing them straight onto the floor—then lies back, knees bent, legs spread enough for Pedro to fit between them. 

“Fuck, Louis,” Pedro groans, following him onto the bed. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky with a blind date. All he had been told was ‘He’s pretty and smart and funny, you’ll like him.’ He had. He does like him. A lot.

Fingers slicked with lube, he finds Louis’ hole as he nips at the inside of his thighs, the cradle of his pelvis, the little pudge of his stomach. Louis whimpers and writhes all the while, and Pedro is aching by the time he has him prepared to take his cock. 

“Pedro—” Louis moans at a new curl of Pedro’s fingers before he slides them out to press against his taint. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. My fingers aren’t enough?” 

Whining, Louis shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again. 

Rising to his knees, Pedro guides Louis’ hand to his cock with a hand around his wrist, so he can feel him, hard and eager. “Is this what you want? My cock to fill you up?”

“Please—Daddy, “ Louis adds, stuttering unsurely. 

“Got Daddy so hard, baby.”

Louis clumsily pumps his cock a few times before bringing his hand to his mouth, sucking the precome from his fingers.

Pedro knows how good Louis is with his mouth, how good his lips feel around his cock. But right now he wants to kiss them—kiss Louis nice and deep and slow, and fuck him, nice and deep and slow. 

“Get inside me,” Louis whimpers, panting, when they separate.

Once he has him on his front, Pedro slips a pillow under his hips to keep them raised, and straddles the back of his legs. Sliding the condom down his cock, he tightens his grip at the base for a second, breath whistling between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he says roughly, teasing his length between Louis’ cheeks.

Louis gasps wetly into the crook of his arm when the head catches on his hole. “Daddy, please.” 

Pedro smooths a soothing hand down his back, then holds onto his hips as he pushes inside, slow but without stopping until he bottoms out.

Propped on his elbows, Louis’ head drops between his shoulder blades. “So full, fuck,” he breathes out unsteadily.

“Taking it so well, baby.” 

He fucks Louis nice and deep and slow, spurred on by his little gasping breaths and whines; the slick clench of his hole when Pedro praises him, grunting; how he mewls when Pedro spreads him open, and cries out when he angles his thrusts just so—his hips following the movement until he comes, body going taut and then boneless.

It’s quick work for Pedro to chase his own orgasm, pressing in deep, moaning low in his throw as his cock pulses, filling the condom.

When Pedro pulls out, Louis swears under his breath, groaning as he stretches, arms over his head and toes pointed, before rolling to his side.

“Alright?” Discarding the condom, Pedro joins him. “All good?” he asks, cupping his face for a quick kiss.

“Mhm. All good.” Louis traces Pedro’s moustache to the upturned corner of his mouth, breathing out a giggle when Pedro nips at his fingers. “It was good.”

“Still just good?” he laughs. “Tough crowd.”

Louis gives him a peck on the lips. “Fine. Excellent. A+,” he says with a soft, sated smile. Slipping a leg between Pedro’s calves, he falls silent as he traces the muscles of his shoulders and down his neck to the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

“So what now?” he asks after a moment, raising his eyes to Pedro—soft and vulnerable and painfully stunning. “What happens in the… afternoon after?”

Pedro takes hold of his hand to press a kiss to the center of his palm, then his knuckles, before scrubbing them over his stubble. “It’s Sunday, so if you’re free I was thinking we can go out to lunch, for a walk, maybe a movie... Make plans for another date.”

Louis’ mouth forms a vee as he tries and fails to hold back his smile, eyelashes sweeping against his cheek as he looks down, bashful but pleased. “Sounds good,” he says finally. 

“Good,” Pedro agrees with a laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pedro Pascal is 45. Louis is 29.


End file.
